


Only After Dark

by eucatastrophe__x



Series: Light of my Life [1]
Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Hotel Sex, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 02:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4374047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eucatastrophe__x/pseuds/eucatastrophe__x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Do not get involved with an </i>actor.</p>
<p><i>Do not get involved with a </i>colleague.</p>
<p><i>Do not get involved with a </i>man.</p>
<p>Despite his best efforts, Richard is breaking all the rules he has ever made for himself.</p>
<p>And maybe the time has come for him to abandon them entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only After Dark

Richard just wanted it to be _over._

The interviewer smiled brightly at him, her teeth unnaturally white and lips stretched unnaturally wide. He would have forgotten her face altogether by the end of the day and would be unable to recall any distinctive features of any of the people he’d met today, even if someone put a gun to his head (a scenario which, at this point, seemed altogether pleasant). He’d got up at six for a radio appearance at half seven before the endless parade of journalists swapping places before the Hobbit banner, which had started just before nine, and it was now a full twelve hours later and they’d only had a fifteen minute break for lunch and even extracting himself to go to the bathroom had been nigh on impossible.

But he smiled back, forcing himself to kindle a light in his eyes that would seem genuine to all but a select handful of people. This was the dream, after all. Of course he should be enjoying it. And on the whole, he did. But this day, in particular… well, like he said. He was ready for it to be over.

Thank Christ she was the last interviewer of the day.

And when she finally packed up her things, giving him another wide smile and a handshake and an offer to show him the sights of the city if he had any time off (like it wasn’t a proposition he’d heard innumerable times in the last week already, like he didn’t already know exactly how he was going to spend any precious moments he had to himself) before clicking out of the room on her ludicrously high heels, all he wanted to do was sob with relief.

“Are we done?”

“You’re done,” Amanda, his publicist, confirmed, a reassuring hand on his arm. “You have time to head back to the hotel and get changed before the Company dinner – you’ll be meeting them there since they’re all – Richard?”

He hadn’t heard a word after the first two, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion and misery before those sensations gave way to something even less welcome. The bathrooms were so far away and he knew he wouldn’t get there in time and he didn’t see any other particularly useful vessels in the cramped room, except –

He lunged for his hat (the one Sarah, his stylist, had insisted on, though he’d taken it off as soon as he arrived because really, it was the height of rudeness to wear a hat inside, and surely it wasn’t practical at _all_ for filmed interviews) which had been resting on the floor near his interviewee chair, sat down again, and promptly vomited up his lunch.

It didn’t make him feel any better.

“Oh, god, Richard, are you okay? Can we get some water over here?” Amanda added, calling to the room at large as she fluttered around him, hands moving uselessly from his arms to back to shoulders to forehead and back again. At least the journalist had already gone. “Was it something you ate?”

The soggy sandwich he’d inhaled for lunch didn’t have many redeeming qualities, but he was fairly sure it hadn’t brought its current fate upon itself. He let himself nod anyway, a pathetic little movement. “Have you been feeling ill all day? …All week?”

Another nod. Well, it was true, in a way. But there was only one thing that was going to fix this illness, and it definitely wasn’t what Amanda expected.

To be fair, that was part of the problem.

It had always been part of the problem.

She rested one hand between his shoulder blades as she helped him guide the hastily-produced plastic cup of water to his lips. “I’m going to call Martin, let him know you can’t make it, okay? The car will take you back to the hotel and you can have an early night. There’s the panel with the others tomorrow, but I’ll be there, so if you still feel unwell, you can just keep quiet, and signal me if you think you’ll be sick again. How does that sound?”

“Good,” he murmured obediently, wiping his lips and gratefully accepting the new toothbrush and travel-sized tube of toothpaste she pressed on him – knowing full well his hatred of having bad breath and generally feeling unclean. In another world (or perhaps a bad made-for-TV movie) an instance like this would make him appreciate how she understood all his intricacies, and realise that he had loved her all along.

But endings like that did not happen in real life – besides, Amanda lived with her partner and had a daughter and would probably have been appalled had Richard ever tried to make a move on her.

No, his attentions were focused elsewhere.

And he was ashamed of it.

He spent the drive back to the hotel staring out the window in silence, barely taking in the city rushing past and instead focusing on the slow, traitorous thump of his heart. He _should_ do what Amanda had suggested: a long shower before climbing into bed as his fellow castmates enjoyed their dinner together. The Company would normally spend at least one night together when they were all in the same city for interviews and promotional attendances – the fourteen of them (fifteen on the occasions that they were joined by Ian) but no one else. And normally he would be right in the thick of it.

Not tonight.

Not when this need was so physical and all-encompassing, a solid lump in his chest that he struggled to breathe around.

And there was only one way for it to dissipate.

And – thank Christ – it was going to happen very, very soon.

He was lifting his phone to his ear when he walked through the hotel lobby, only to have the receptionist catch his eye and beckon him over. “Mr Armitage? I have a delivery for you.”

He kept his face mildly interested, accepting the envelope and her goodnight wishes, only tearing the former open once he was ensconced and alone in the lift. A painful lump formed in his stomach as he surveyed its contents – a mixture of relief, desperate need and pre-emptive regret.

A hotel key card and, scribbled on the back of a dry-cleaning receipt, a room number.

It had clearly been a priority, getting this to him.

Somehow, he couldn’t find it in himself to mind.

As the lift ascended, he leaned his forehead against the mirrored wall and closed his eyes, taking slow, steadying breaths. He was an addict, his next fix just tantalising seconds away – but that knowledge was tempered with shame.

He had broken so many of his own rules.

He _was_ breaking so many.

If things had been different – if he hadn’t succumbed the first time – he was sure he would still be intact. Maybe he would have even been able to get through this week without vomiting – this evening’s incident had by no means been the first, but the others had mercifully taken place within the bathroom of his hotel room. Maybe he wouldn’t have found the interviews quite so painful and maybe he would have gone out with the Company tonight and maybe his life would be so much _easier_ and yet –

That smile, that honeyed voice, those eyes and hands and lips, darkened rooms and whispered words that disappeared like smoke in the light of day, the exquisite little oasis of perfection that only ever lasted until sunrise.

It had been so long.

He had wondered, especially in the last couple of weeks as the countdown became too much to bear, whether things would be different now. Most of him was happy with the current arrangement – fleeting visits and stolen moments – but there was a small part (that he tried to squash down at the best of times) that thought there was the potential for more.

The thing was – that small part was growing. And Richard was terrified that when he came face to face with the problem – no, that wasn’t fair; he was the solution, the thing that kept Richard going through months of lonely nights and inane interviews – that he wouldn’t be able to suppress it any longer.

All thumbs in his haste, he rammed the key card into the slot with a little more force than necessary.

It didn’t work.

Taking another deep breath, and willing his hands to stop shaking, he tried again.

Nothing.

God _damn_ it.

The stubborn little bastard refused to yield, the little light still resolutely red. Richard wanted to rip it off the door. If they were staying somewhere _normal,_ somewhere that had good old-fashioned _keys,_ this would not be happening right now and he would already be inside and – 

Snarling with frustration, he spun around, curling his fingers into a fist, and slammed said fist into the opposite wall.

It helped a fraction. He only hoped the room on the other side was unoccupied. But concerns for the other guests barely registered through the fog as he punched the wall three more times. As he drew his fist back for a fourth, the soft click of a door opening echoed behind him.

The very door he’d been trying to get through himself.

And he just… deflated.

His head bowed (and, suddenly, knuckles throbbing) he turned, barely able to bring himself to look at the man before him, the concern that he knew would be in his eyes, as he crossed the hall in two steps. “Did you not get the key card? I left you one downstairs –I was in the bathroom and then Evie called, and just as I hung up I heard banging out here and I… Rich?”

Still staring at the floor, Richard felt two fingers tuck under his chin, lifting it so he could be inspected. He knew it wasn’t a pretty picture – Amanda had pressed cleansing wipes on him as she put him in the car so he could get rid of the gunk on his face. They’d had to layer it on extra thickly, especially in the last few days, to stop him looking like death on camera. There wasn’t a lot they could do about the dullness of his gaze, but the pallor of his cheeks and the blackness under his eyes at least they could improve.

“Oh, _Richard._ ”

Warm fingers curled around his own (Richard’s traitorous heart stuttering at the contact, as always), tugging him back into the hotel room and carefully closing the door behind them.

Richard exhaled, the despair and exhaustion that had been plaguing him – well, for months now, but never quite so badly as this week – starting to recede as he finally raised his head to look at the man in front of him.

_Lee._

The elven king.

…Not that he looked like a king at that moment, to be fair, in a white t-shirt stretched from overwear and the grey sweats he always had on hand when he was travelling. The worry in his eyes and the gentleness of his hands as they cupped Richard’s jaw certainly weren’t characteristic of Thranduil’s coldness. Richard let his eyes slip closed as he stepped into Lee’s embrace, resting his forehead on his shoulder and finally finding his centre of gravity again as he felt Lee’s heart beat, slow and steady and reassuring.

Oh, thank _god._

He wondered, in that moment: how could he ever think of walking away from this?

And how could he really think he could last without this man occupying the space in his life that they both (yes, both, and even if it was barely articulated, the knowledge curled in his head like smoke) so desperately wanted him to fill?

He didn’t know how long they stood there like that – it could well have been hours before he finally spoke.

“You cut your hair.”

His voice was gravelly from disuse, struggling to escape around the lump in his throat. But if Lee noticed how much he was struggling, he didn’t let on.

“I see you didn’t,” he teased, smoothing one hand over the hair in question. Richard knew it had been getting out of control, veering back towards the long floppy style he had been sporting a couple of years previously, but organising a cut had been on the list of things that were just too difficult (just below smiling genuinely, sleeping more than a couple of hours each night, and not feeling like he’d been punched in the chest every time he inhaled). But Lee wasn’t complaining, and told him so. “I like it.”

“I missed you.”

“I’m here now.”

There was so much more that needed to be said – that hasty, hushed cross-country phone conversations couldn’t cover – but it would wait. The worst was over. He would be okay.

They both knew it.

Richard lifted his head to press his nose to Lee’s, still revelling in being able to share his air and his warmth for the first time since they had last been in the same city at the same time. That had been three months ago, and three months was three months too long for both of them.

And Lee had decided, during those three months, that he would move hell and high water to prevent it ever happening again.

But that was a conversation for another time, because Richard’s hands were in his hair (which, while shorter, was still long enough for fingers to tangle in and pull on) and his mouth was millimetres from Lee’s and his gaze was fixed on Lee’s lips and there was no way that Lee would try and distract him from this course of action by something as mundane as _talking._

They could put their mouths to much better use, after all.

Lee closed the gap, his lips brushing Richard’s almost painfully gently, a sharp exhale leaving the other man’s throat at the contact. He held himself back, knowing full well that Richard was almost at the end of his fuse and that he would up the ante when he was ready. Instead, he pressed another chaste kiss to one corner of Richard’s mouth, then the other, then the fullness of his bottom lip, which he nipped not-quite-softly before pulling away and waiting.

The dam burst.

Lee had less than a second to open his heavy-lidded eyes and appreciate that Richard’s were almost black before their mouths met in a desperate kiss and he was slammed against the wall, his skull cracking against the plaster.

Both were entirely too preoccupied to notice.

The reunion was so perfect it was almost painful. It was only seconds before Richard had coaxed Lee’s mouth open, and the hot swipe of his skilled tongue (god, and after so long) had Lee hard in an alarmingly short time. He pushed a thigh between Lee’s, grinding against him with deliberate rolls of his hips, and Lee’s fingers scrabbled at the neat collar of his shirt, trying to pull him closer for more. The softness of their first kisses was long forgotten in seconds: there was nothing gentle about the insistent press of Richard’s tongue as it slid against Lee’s, earning muffled groans from both of them.

Lee did not often have complaints about Richard’s stylist. She managed to dress the man in a way that conveyed his personality completely, so smooth and charming and _English._ What he did object to, from time to time, was her preference for ties and buttons and cufflinks and waistcoats and items that couldn’t be removed from Richard’s body in less than three seconds. Everything on his torso fell into that category today. It would have been less of an issue if this wasn’t the first time they’d been together in so long – because, after all, Lee did enjoy torturing Richard, panting hot and heavy against his neck and undoing each button painstakingly slowly, until his bones were nearly jelly before they’d even really begun.

Today was _not_ one of those days.

The difficulties Lee was having were compounded by the intensity of Richard’s kisses (not to mention the erection he could feel through his dress pants), and part of him just wanted to slump back and let himself be devoured, let Richard grind against him until they were both incoherent. But he needed so much more – they both did.

So he pulled away.

Richard eyed him with confusion and frustration. Lee’s nose and mouth were pink and the latter was looking thoroughly kissed and _god_ , how had they survived without this for so long?

“Will Sarah kill me if I rip your shirt?” Lee breathed against his mouth, wide pupils staring earnestly into his as he struggled with the waistcoat. Richard didn’t answer, hands moving to his neck as he fumbled at his tie, dropping it at their feet and moving to the buttons on his shirt. He only managed the first four before Lee’s hands were at the hem, tugging it over his head, before Lee’s own t-shirt met the same fate. And then Lee was pushing him back, wrapping his fingers around his throat, his thumb pressing gently on Richard’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed, his next words coming out as a gasp.

“Bedroom… _please.”_

Richard couldn’t help but admire Lee as he pushed him backwards onto the bed. Though they were close in height and build, Lee reminded him of a bear – a very cuddly one, most of the time. But the thing about bears was that they were also predators – and the look in Lee’s eyes was definitely predatory, as he surveyed his conquest, spread-eagled and waiting.

“You are a _masterpiece.”_

Lee hadn’t meant to actually vocalise the thought. Richard was definitely one for squirming with embarrassment when he was complimented, not least when the compliment in question related to his body. But sometimes he just couldn’t help himself – plus, he had been imagining this moment every night for weeks on end, and somehow the bulge and slide of Richard’s muscles were even better than he had remembered.

But he was still wearing far too many clothes.

The raw emotion in Lee’s words had Richard blushing, but the embarrassment faded and then disappeared completely as his shoes, socks and trousers were forcibly removed. His knees were bent and then Lee was lowering his head and, without hesitation, wrapping his lips around Richard’s cock and swallowing him down.

“Jesus Christ, Lee,” he rasped, his head thrashing on the pillow as he grasped the sheets between his fingers. Lee had obviously unpacked and had a nap as soon as his flight had got in, because the bedding was already rumpled, the duvet pushed right to the foot of the bed. He was a hot-blooded creature – even in mid-winter Wellington he would only sleep with a thin sheet covering him. Richard wasn’t really complaining – he could have extra blankets on his side of the bed, and Lee would curl up against him, letting him luxuriate in the warmth, a secure arm around his torso to anchor him in their snatched moments of paradise.

Said secure arm – arms – were holding him firmly in place as Lee swallowed again, hollowing his cheeks as he intentionally caught Richard’s eye. The head of Richard’s cock brushed the back of Lee’s throat as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, delighting in the view of the back of Lee’s head bobbing between his legs and the obscene sounds he was making.

Richard had been dreaming of those sounds for three months.

And ninety percent of the time, he was appalled by that fact.

The shame usually came approximately ten seconds after he had come down from his high, pants around his ankles or discarded completely, the image of Lee’s face branded on the backs of his eyelids and his palm slick with come. The room surrounding him would be empty and he would be alone and the guilt at getting off thinking about something so illicit and just plain wrong would overwhelm him for hours, if not days.

But when he was actually _with_ Lee, sharing one of their precious snatched moments, savouring his embrace and the devotion that was so painfully obvious in his eyes – at those times, it felt more right than anything else in the world.

Lee’s tongue was still insistently working its magic, one hand gripping Richard’s hip as the other shifted down and around, feather-light, and Richard jerked off the bed with a gasp as it found its mark. “Lee,” he whimpered, flexing his white-knuckled fingers and exhaling shakily as the other man looked up at him, his mouth’s ministrations slowing and then stopping entirely.

“Top drawer.”

Richard flailed desperately, still hyper-aware of that circling finger, nearly pulling the drawer from the bedside cabinet altogether as he scrabbled, his hand eventually – mercifully – closing around the small bottle. He closed his eyes at the sound of Lee flicking the cap open, focusing on the comfortable weight of the other man between his legs and the caged-bird pace of his own heart, and waited.

The first finger was a relief.

A breathy huff escaped parted lips at the sensation and he tugged on Lee’s hair, pulling him up the length of the bed. They worked in tandem to shuck down Lee’s sweats – and of _course_ he had forgone underwear, his cock hot and throbbing under Richard’s hand, precome beading at the slit with that first touch alone.

Lee had been _waiting._

Three months without Richard might as well have been an eternity. Caving in to his thoughts and his hand when he couldn’t bear it anymore didn’t hold a candle to the real thing, pushing mindlessly against his hand, his face and neck flushed as he whimpered and begged.

“Lee, please.”

The second finger was a revelation.

He knew what Richard needed – had always known, at some level. He had been so shy and nervous at the beginning, so hesitant to act on feelings that Lee could see so clearly. That was why Lee had made the first move, in the end, suggesting that they go out for a drink, two kings together.

One drink had turned into several, and many hours later, they found themselves on the step outside Richard’s trailer, sharing a sweet and exquisite first kiss.

Everything had snowballed from there.

But the relationship was still entirely secret.

Richard would only ever come to him at night – slipping out under the cover of darkness and leaving again before first light. (The same was true even when they were on different continents: Richard would only call once the sun had set in his time zone.) In his post-orgasmic haze, Lee would always desperately try to cling to wakefulness, knowing full well that if he drifted off, the other side of the bed would be cold and empty when he next opened his eyes.

He could count on one hand the number of times that Richard had overslept, because of the thrill that accompanied it. He would tread carefully, those mornings, especially if they had the day off – making breakfast, showering together, smiling softly, trading kisses in the dark with the curtains still drawn.

And if Richard wasn’t willing to linger on, to spend time together once the sun had risen properly… Well, Lee would take what he could get.

It would take time for Richard to get comfortable with a side to his sexuality that he hadn’t explored for more than a decade. His parents were wary of it, assumed he’d grown out of it, kept asking whether he’d met a nice woman to settle down with. Coming from an environment like that, who could blame the man for being cautious? Lee did as much as he could, but deep-down acceptance of the situation was going to have to come from within Richard alone.

And for a man so perfect, Lee was willing to wait.

Just… not right that instant.

The third finger was a rhapsody.

A moan rumbled out from deep in Richard’s chest and he pulled Lee in for another desperate kiss, his grip on Lee’s cock tightening and a high keen escaping his throat as Lee left his mouth to press kisses and licks along his jaw and neck and collarbone. They were open-mouthed but soft, gentle enough not to leave marks – because Lee knew that doing so was strictly forbidden. It was another of the perils of the secret nature of their relationship: no evidence could ever be left behind. And he waited for the day when he could let go, sucking and biting and _bruising_ Richard’s neck and shoulders and chest and the crease of his thigh, because it would send a message that Lee had so far been painfully unable to proclaim to the world.

_This man is mine._

There was also the fact that he was certain that Richard would love it, would gasp and arch against him and beg for more. For now, he would content himself with twisting his fingers inside Richard, one fingertip insistent against his prostate but shifting fractionally every so often when his abdomen clenched in the way that Lee had learned meant he was close.

God, Richard was so beautiful like this. Lee abandoned the mapping of his neck in favour of lifting his head and just _watching._ His eyes were closed, the crease between his brows forming and then smoothing away every few seconds as Lee intentionally held him back from the edge. He knew Richard could easily come from this alone – had spent many intense early morning hours experimenting – but they had been apart for so long this time that there was no way he was going to let it be over that quickly.

Then again, the rhythm with which Richard was stroking him and the way he was flicking his thumb over the head, coupled with the dampness collecting at his hairline and the breathy pants coming out of his mouth, could easily be Lee’s undoing if he let them.

Richard whined with frustration as Lee pulled his fingers out achingly slowly, but couldn’t bring himself to mind the emptiness because he knew – oh, thank _God_ – what was coming next.

“Sit up a bit, darling.”

He did so obligingly, letting Lee pile more pillows behind his lower back so he wasn’t flat on the bed, ignoring the twitch of his cock at Lee’s deliberately strong Texan drawl. It wasn’t fair – Lee knew exactly what that honeyed voice did to him and would pull it out at the most inopportune of moments (particularly on set, while in full Thranduil regalia, leaving Richard to will away his erection for the next several hours until he could escape to Lee after sunset).

Lee kicked off his sweats, which had been tangled around his feet, and made to reach for the top drawer again, but Richard’s fingers encircled his wrist deliberately, making him pause. “Rich?”

The words were not as forthcoming as Richard had expected them to be.

He had spent the last month of lonely nights wondering if he would be able to work up the courage to tell Lee what he wanted – then again, when he’d practised (incredibly self-consciously) in front of the bathroom mirror, he hadn’t exactly expected the conversation to go down practically mid-coitus.

“I want – I don’t – I need – I trust you,” he finally opted for, resenting the flaming blush that spread across his cheeks at his inability to get the words out. Christ, how difficult should it be to tell the man who had your heart that you wanted (no, needed) to feel every inch of him, skin to skin, without something so artificial as a condom between you?

Lee closed his eyes, exhaling heavily, looking for a moment like this was a conversation that he had never wanted to have, and Richard felt a flicker of fear that the condoms were a necessity because Lee had some sort of STI or – oh, god, had he been sleeping with someone else (or multiple someone elses – it had been three months, after all) the entire time and was Richard completely out of his depth here?

“I mean,” he stuttered, desperately trying to rectify the situation, “it’s not – if you want – we can –”

“Rich,” Lee whispered, “stop talking.”

He stopped his blathering obediently and waited, receiving Lee’s gentle kiss with trepidation.

“I was only going to say,” he went on, eyes fixed on Richard’s, “that we’re going to have to go very, very slowly, because otherwise I don’t think I’m going to last ten seconds.”

Oh.

“I’ve never done this with anyone else.”

_Oh._

“Me neither,” Richard teased in a whisper, reaching up to link his fingers behind Lee’s neck and feeling a surge of gratification at the small smile he got in response, “but slow is okay.”

The hushed conversation had flipped the switch again, from rough and needy to gentle and – yes, he was going to go there – romantic. Lee pressed his forehead to Richard’s as he lined himself up and then pushed inside, stopping after the first inch to take a calming breath.

“Good?”

“Amazing.”

Another inch.

And another, and another, until Lee was completely buried inside him, and they exhaled in unison, their breaths unsteady in the face of their perfect union.

_“Lee…”_

For as long as Richard could remember, he had had rules. The rules had been for the benefit of his acting career; no one could dispute that. There were many, of course, but over the course of the past months (hell, since he’d laid eyes on the lanky American kid who’d turned up on set that first day to embody the elven king) he was drawn back to a few in particular.

The blanket rule, of course, was simple: don’t get romantically involved. With anyone. He had little time for actors who were more famous for their personal lives than their work and was determined that he would never be one of them.

But the rule had additional – sub-rules, if you will, just on the off chance that Richard did find himself falling for someone. A relationship – again, on the off chance that his affections were reciprocated – might just be acceptable as long as it didn’t fall foul of any of them.

Do not get involved with an _actor._

Do not get involved with a _colleague._

Do not get involved with a _man._

He had failed spectacularly at all of them. After that first kiss, soft and full of promise, he’d known he was a goner. He resented himself for caving so easily, for falling in love so wholeheartedly.

And fall in love he had – there was no doubt about it. He had been embarrassed about that, too: how could a person fall in love with someone they only ever saw at night, sneaking between trailers and hotel rooms for frantic coupling while their colleagues were completely unaware?

To be fair, they would interact during the days on set as well, sharing a table in the corner as they reviewed their lines or sitting next to each other in the makeup chairs. But on those occasions, they gave no indication to anyone of anything more than a platonic (and occasionally antagonistic) working relationship. He certainly wouldn’t let Lee put a hand on his knee or the small of his back and fought constantly to keep the gooey smile off his face.

It wasn’t until they were alone that he could let his guard down. They didn’t spend all their time together in bed (or on the counter, against the wall, on the floor or in the shower – neither of them were fussy) and the more he got to know Lee, the more he realised that this could possibly be _it._

All he had to do was accept it.

But it turned out that in the cold light of day, that was generally easier said than done.

The nights, however… Those he could do just fine. The sight of Lee’s face scrunched in pleasure was more than enough to make him forget he’d ever made rules for himself in the first place.

“I missed you,” he repeated, relishing the slow burn of Lee’s agonising pace, hands fisted in the other man’s hair as he tugged him down, pressing his lips to the hollow below his ear. The paper-thin skin was salty with sweat and Lee’s breath hitched in his throat as Richard swept his tongue over it, collecting the flavour.

“God, I missed you too, Rich.”

A beat.

“I love you.”

“ _Oh,_ I love you.”

The first time he’d said it had been an accident.

The realisation had hit him like a punch to the gut one day when they’d been on set together. Lee was all seriousness and professionalism, cold and aloof, with his Thranduil mask on – but when no one was looking, he flashed Richard a smile, intimate and inviting and meant only for him. Warmth had flooded Richard’s chest and he’d had to look away from the intensity in those eyes, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth at the newfound knowledge that he was seriously out of his depth.

That night, sated and sedated and curled against each other, Richard mapping the freckles on Lee’s shoulders with lazy lips and fingertips, it had just popped out. But he’d only been able to regret it for a second, because Lee turned over and gave him such an adorable smile, repeating Richard’s words in a whisper before pulling him in for more kisses (which, despite their exhaustion, had rapidly turned into something else).

The words never failed to send a thrill through him.

Neither did the kisses.

And the kisses were coming thick and fast as Lee trembled above him, forcing himself to continue his gentle pace, intent on drawing this out. It could well have been hours already – it wouldn’t be the first time that Lee’s skills in bed had caused him to lose all grasp of time and space.

“Fuck, Lee, that’s so good,” Richard groaned into his mouth, reaching for his neck again and unerringly finding that spot that always made him weak in the knees.

As it was, Lee’s arms nearly gave out at the sensation – but he wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t notice the smug little snicker that Richard gave, the sound muffled against damp skin.

“Mm, is that really how you want to play, Rich?”

The mischievous glint in the other man’s eyes told him everything he needed to know. “You know, I think maybe it is… If you’re sure you can handle – han – oh, _Lee._ ”

Lee had changed the game, just like he’d asked, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

The gentle, loving pace was gone and now Lee was fucking him, hard and fast and dirty, and it was everything he had needed and dreamed of over the months he’d been away from his lover’s arms and bed.

“I thought you said you needed to go slow,” he gasped, barely able to open his eyes through the haze of need, wondering how long Lee could keep this intensity up and whether he would actually die if he didn’t.

“I did,” Lee conceded, not slowing his rhythm in the slightest, the words escaping in grunts, “but now it seems that I need to fuck you until you’re begging me to let you come.”

“I don’t – _ah_ – I don’t think I’m too far away from that moment – _Christ,_ Lee, just like that,” he wheezed, his heels digging into the small of Lee’s back in an attempt to pull him ever closer, ever deeper.

Lee was losing his mind.

The sensation of Richard around him was indescribable – a thousand times better than with that latex barrier. Every movement was intensified to the extent that Lee knew that if he stopped focusing on holding himself back and maintaining his steady rhythm, it would all be over in five seconds flat – much as he’d originally predicted.

But the most distracting thing was the sight of the man beneath him – because good lord, he was a mess. Every breath was a shallow pant, pink blotches darkening high on his cheeks as he rolled his hips sinuously against Lee’s. Damp hair was sticking to his forehead and beads of sweat were pooling at the hollow at the base of his throat and Lee thought it might just be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He clung to Lee’s biceps so desperately that not only was Lee sure that he would have bruises tomorrow – breaking one of Richard’s rules – but that those bruises would bear the whorls of his fingerprints.

It was all too much, too much, too much.

“More,” Richard whispered, the word catching in his throat, “God, Lee, _please.”_

Lee’s hips stuttered, the raw sound of Richard begging sending more blood rushing south, leaving him impossibly harder. He changed his angle slightly and Richard whined, long and low and needy, his grip on Lee’s arms tightening. Their kisses gradually lost their finesse until they were barely kisses at all, Lee panting against Richard’s mouth and their lips only brushing unintentionally as he kept up his punishing pace and brought Richard closer and closer to the edge.

It was intense like he had never experienced, feeling every inch of Lee move within him with nothing between them. The pressure on his prostate was skirting that exquisite edge where pleasure and pain were indistinguishable, and every breath was coming out as a needy sob, his eyes wet with unshed tears (and he wasn’t quite sure if it was the perfection of the sex or being in Lee’s arms again or a mix of the two). But when Lee shifted slightly, one arm taking his full weight as his other hand reached for Richard’s cock – well, that was it, really.

He felt himself unravelling, and it only took two or three practised slides of Lee’s hand before he was coming, his spine arching off the bed and his head jerking back in a silent scream as he spilled over himself, hot stickiness slipping over his abdomen and Lee’s fingers, his whole body spasming with the blinding intensity of his orgasm.

And Lee just watched, that familiar sense of achievement coursing through him as he made his lover fall apart.

He kept up his pace, rocking Richard through until he wasn’t sobbing with every breath, unable to care about the sticky mess (but also wondering, with a very small part of his brain, whether he would be able to convince Richard to stay long enough to shower with him the next morning because he really wouldn’t mind another round involving hot water and cold tiles and the feeling of Richard in his mouth and spilling down his throat…)

“Baby,” Richard crooned, fingers smoothing over his shoulders and back, “god, you feel so fucking amazing, I love having you inside me, so good…”

And just like that, he was very much back in the moment and not at all sure what had possessed him to lose it in the first place.

That sex-rough voice and the mix of dirty talk and gooey endearments had him trembling (a combination Richard was very aware of and frequently used to his advantage), his thrusts becoming increasingly erratic and his breathing just on this side of hyperventilation.

“Oh, _fuck.”_

He was close – oh, god, so close – and –

“Rich, tell me – should I –”

“Come inside me,” Richard breathed, “please.”

The edge was _there_ – oh, right there – and if he just –

Richard reached up to cradle his face in his hands in what looked like wonder, pressing the pads of his fingers to the jut of Lee’s cheekbones, his gaze so reverent that it was almost painful, and the heat that had been coiling at the base of Lee’s spine exploded, the world turning white as he gasped Richard’s name over and over like a prayer.

Silence reigned as he came back down, hyper-aware of the gentle movements of Richard’s hands mapping every bit of skin he could reach. He was always so _cuddly_ after sex – at least, in the immediate aftermath, until he started worrying about when he would need to leave if he was going to avoid being spotted – and there wasn’t much Lee loved more than capitalising on that.

He pulled out, smirking at the small whine the movement earned. “Good thing housekeeping will be here tomorrow.”

Richard just huffed in response, shuffling his long body to the other side of the bed before turning to Lee with an expectant expression. “Are you coming or not?”

Biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from snickering at the double entendre, Lee cleaned up faster than he ever had before and it was only a minute before they were curled into each other, abandoning their usual spooning to lie front to front, Richard’s nose pressed into the hollow between Lee’s collarbones, his damp hair tucked under Lee’s chin, their arms and legs tangled together in an embrace that was somehow lazy and needy at the same time.

“I love you so much,” Richard murmured, eyes and limbs already heavy with exhaustion, “thank you.”

“Always,” Lee promised, knowing that it was the truth – even if Richard wasn’t ready to live with it.

Lee only managed to doze for a snatched half hour before he slowly extricated himself from the bed, holding his breath as Richard snuffled and rolled into the space he had been occupying, fingers unconsciously reaching before flexing around one of the pillows. Lee adored how unguarded he was when he was asleep, the worry lines on his forehead smoothed away. It was the only time he wasn’t fretting about their relationship.

One day, Lee mused, maybe things would be different.

But he slipped out of the bedroom and gathered Richard’s discarded clothing, folding each garment neatly and precisely and stacking them on the furthest arm of the couch, his phone on the top of the pile. He couldn’t remember when it had become a ritual, but he liked the little glimpse it gave him into what their lives could be if Richard let them.

One day, he repeated. One day.

Richard awoke to an empty bed, feeling more rested than he had in months. The sky was still dark and the clock on the bedside table told him it was only three in the morning – he’d slept for four hours, but it might as well have been four hundred. He knew why he’d awoken: Lee – and his comforting, anchoring warmth – wasn’t next to him anymore.

It took a couple of seconds for the cold dread that had immediately filled his chest to dissipate: no, Lee wasn’t gone, of course he wasn’t, he was just in the next room, it was all okay.

Was this how Lee felt every morning when Richard abandoned him before he could say goodbye? If so – how could he bear it?

And could Richard really keep leaving?

The ceiling wasn’t giving him any answers.

Lee had pulled the blankets over Richard when he got up, and left the standard hotel-issue bathrobe on the end of the bed. Pulling it on, he padded silently out of the bedroom, stopping in the doorway when he spotted Lee on the couch.

He had put his old t-shirt and sweats back on (of _course_ he had, Richard thought fondly), his hair still sticking up and bearing all the telltale signs of enthusiastic sex, and the side of his face visible to Richard was illuminated by the glow of his laptop screen as he typed.

And suddenly – the image catching him completely by surprise, but so clear and intense that he had to grip the doorframe to keep his knees from buckling – all Richard could see was the future.

(A big house, with a crackling fire and a dog or cat curled up in front of it, and Lee lounging on the couch with his feet up (much like he was now) and a script in his hand while Richard sat across the room in a squashy armchair with the newspaper and a cup of tea, and the smell of something delicious simmering or roasting in the kitchen, and conversation would be sporadic and trivial but it wouldn’t matter because they would have everything they wanted and they were _home_ and it would last _forever_.)

He felt something in his chest turn over and settle, like the last piece of a puzzle sliding into place. This was what he wanted – what he needed: not just Lee (because he had come to the realisation a long time ago, even if he didn’t want to admit it, that having Lee in his life was not something he would ever be able to sacrifice without falling apart completely) but domesticity and togetherness and _peace._

Somehow it felt so different to the movie watching and relaxing in their trailers – it could have been the absence of fifty other people in earshot, but it also could have been that the three month absence had solidified everything for Richard, leading him to the inevitable conclusion that this was becoming (hell, had become) something much bigger than he’d ever anticipated.

And the thrill of terror that usually accompanied such thoughts (even at the best of times) was surprisingly, conspicuously absent.

Maybe this was it.

Maybe he’d finally turned the corner.

All it had taken was an excruciatingly lonely three months without the man he loved.

And if he had known that that was the case – that against all odds, Lee making love to him and falling asleep in each other’s arms for the first time in so long had the effect of eroding his guilt and shame over their relationship – god, he would have suggested it months ago.

He stepped out of the shadow of the doorway, and the deliberate movement instantly alerted Lee to his presence, that goofy smile reserved for Richard lighting up his face.

“Hey,” he said softly, “sleep well?”

“Better than I have in months,” Richard admitted, joining him on the couch and pulling the other man’s legs across his lap. “I, um… I’m sorry about before.”

Lee just stared. “For… which part exactly?”

“For being so… needy.”

“Babe, if you needed me for the rest of your life, I’d be the happiest man in the world.” Lee paused, clearly acutely aware of the fact that his words sounded like a proposal. “I mean – well, you know what I mean.”

“I do,” Richard acknowledged, absently rubbing the soft grey fabric of Lee’s sweats between his thumb and forefinger. “You know, you’ll feel terrible tomorrow – today – if you don’t get some sleep.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Lee smirked, “but I slept on the plane, plus when I got in. You, on the other hand, look like you could do with a few more hours.” A pause. “Rich, are you okay?”

His fingers stilled. Chancing a glance at Lee, worry evident on his face (the serious expression at odds with his ridiculous sex-mussed hair), he decided that it wasn’t worth making up an excuse.

He shuffled closer, their bodies a tangle of limbs until his head was on Lee’s chest, the other man’s arm around his shoulders and fingers sliding through his hair. 

“It turns out I can’t sleep without you anymore.”

The embarrassing admission fell into a pool of silence, save for a small sigh from Lee. Richard understood its tone – it was Lee’s way of asking why he hadn’t told him sooner.

“It’s a good thing I’m not going anywhere, then.”

Richard nuzzled into the cotton of the other man’s t-shirt, a relaxed huff of air escaping as Lee kissed and then continued stroking his hair, the laptop long forgotten. He knew full well what the action did to Richard and, sure enough, it was only a minute or so before his breathing evened out and he dozed off again. Lee lay back, his head propped up on the couch cushions, and closed his own eyes, revelling in the feeling of having Richard in his arms because god only knew when the opportunity would next present itself. They had a few precious days now, it was true – but after that?

The sky was barely starting to lighten by the time Lee was once more greeted with Richard’s sleepy gaze and an equally sleepy smile. “What time is it?”

“Nearly six.”

Indecision flickered over Richard’s face, but Lee wasn’t letting him get away that easily – not when it had been three goddamn months. His embrace tightened. “Stay.”

“Lee –”

“We have a late start,” he reminded the other man, hoping that his tone wasn’t coming across as pleading and desperate as he felt. “We have all the time in the world.”

“I wish,” Richard whispered – but when he shifted, it was only to grab his phone from the pile where Lee had neatly stacked his things, before returning to his previous position with Lee’s legs across his lap.

Lee breathed a sigh of relief that was almost disbelieving. It was the easiest concession he’d ever seen Richard make on matters to do with their relationship – and a small anxious part of him wondered if this was all just a peaceful interlude before a storm came to swallow everything he’d been working towards so carefully.

Not that he was going to do anything to hurry that storm along. He reached for his laptop again, and returned to his emails, leaving Richard to his own device while the city below them slowly woke up.

The companionable silence made Richard want to cry.

He felt like he’d been cheating himself out of so much joy – and for what?

Maybe this confidence would be short-lived; maybe he would wake up the next morning and be filled with fear again, shame clogging his throat every time he tried to speak. Maybe he would step back from everything he suddenly felt that they could be, rest of the world be damned, and resume his position of ‘no, we shouldn’t’ and ‘but what if?’

But while it lasted… well, the page he pulled up on his phone seemed like an entirely reasonable matter to be considering.

And by the time Lee had finished combing through his inbox and turned his full attention back to Richard, he was deep into his research, discovering (going by the pictures, at least) that this was not going to be all that difficult – it would, however, be a lot of fun.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” He turned off the screen of his phone and pushed it out of reach, not missing Lee’s mischievous smile but unable to mimic it until the other man scooted over (upsetting most of the cushions in the process) to straddle him and press their lips together.

It was a testament to Lee’s kissing ability that he was able to distract Richard enough to reach for the phone, jumping out of his embrace with a caw of triumph.

But the smile disappeared from his face as he saw what Richard had been looking at – and Richard didn’t think he’d ever been quite so mortified in his life.

Christ, what had he been _thinking_?

It was such a spur of the moment thing. He’d hoped that he could do some preliminary searches, then ease the matter into conversation sometime in the next few weeks, just to test the waters: it was possible that Lee would be hesitant – Richard couldn’t blame him if he was. After all, he had been the one insisting on skulking around after dark – such an about turn would leave Lee understandably wary.

But it looked like all of those vague, half-formed plans had gone out the window, because Lee was standing there expectant and this was happening _now._

(Also: was he really about to have this conversation with Lee wearing a fluffy hotel bathrobe and nothing else?)

“Richard,” Lee said carefully, and it was not often that he used his full name when they were in private, which meant that he really was in trouble, shit, “why are you looking at apartments in New York?”

“I just – hm. Well,” he cleared his throat, still unable to make proper eye contact with the man in front of him, “you know I’ve always wanted to move to New York.”

“Rich, I have never heard you say that. Ever.”

All of his acting skills had deserted him. Lee was standing there with his eyebrows raised, clearly seeing through the miserable attempt at a lie and – and damn it, he looked so _confused_ , like he couldn’t understand why Richard would even lie in the first place.

Well, fuck it. He took a deep breath.

“Well, it’s true. I want to move to New York.”

“Why? What is there in New York that London can’t offer you? I know you’re not that technologically illiterate, you know you don’t have to be in the country to audition – and god knows Manhattan living is not that great, it’s freezing in winter and humid as hell in summer, and –”

Lee was missing the point and it was almost funny. It literally had not occurred to him that the reason was – well, him.

“You.”

“What?” Lee was still wearing that disbelieving face, but now Richard could see an undercurrent of – yes, it was definitely hope.

“ _You’re_ in New York,” he repeated slowly, “and I need to be nearer to you.”

Lee sat down cautiously, reaching for Richard’s hand – gentle movements, like he was a small animal that Lee was trying not to scare off. Actually, Lee mused, that was a fairly apt description. This turn of events was not something he had anticipated – and as thrilling as it was to him (god, it was taking everything for him not to jump up and dance around and crush Richard to him like he would never let go), he had to tread very, very carefully.

“Rich, god… I didn’t think you were ready. I mean, we’ve been so secretive this whole time, and I don’t want you to feel like this is something you have to do for me.”

“I didn’t think I was ready either,” Richard admitted, twisting Lee’s fingers between his own and offering up a shy, intimate smile that made Lee’s heart swell, “but it turns out that maybe I am.”

“What changed?” His tone was still gentle, hesitant, almost like he didn’t want to know the answer.

“I think _I_ did.”

Lee’s grip tightened as he bit his lip, trying to hold back his beam and the tightness gathering in his nose and right behind his eyes and Christ, this was one of the happiest moments of his life and was he really going to cry?

“You’re adorable,” Richard whispered, cupping his face in his hands, “and I love you, and I’m sorry I’m an idiot and I’ve been an idiot for so long.” He pressed his lips to Lee’s, and they didn’t speak again for a long time.

But even Richard’s mouth and tongue couldn’t stop Lee’s reckless mind wandering and wondering.

And eventually, Richard noticed.

“Out with it.”

“Hmm?”

“Lee, you’re thinking so hard I can practically hear the gears turning. Come on, you can tell me.” He paused, turning serious. “Am I moving too fast? With this?”

“No,” Lee almost shouted, repeating himself as the anxiousness disappeared from Richard’s face and was replaced by that crooked little smile that made his heart stutter in his chest every single time. “No, god, Rich, don’t ever think that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t want to freak you out,” he mumbled, cursing himself for being so damn _obvious._ It was a very rare for him to have coherent thoughts at all when Richard was draped over him – straddling his hips on the too-small couch, his hands under Lee’s shirt and smoothing over his stomach and waist and chest – so of course the other man would notice eventually.

“Try me,” Richard suggested softly, “and I promise not to freak out.”

“It’s just – I – you – you could – I mean – fuck, this should not be so difficult,” he lamented. If Richard had been able to admit that he was thinking about moving across the world so they could be closer to each other, he shouldn’t struggle quite this much with the suggestion that had been hovering in his mind since he’d first seen what Richard had been looking at on his phone.

After all, he was just being practical.

Surely Rich would see that.

“You could always move in with me.”

And there it was.

He was blushing.

And Richard was smiling, and making no effort whatsoever to climb off his lap.

“Lee… I’m not going to say yes right now, but I’m going to think about it.”

It was more than Lee could have hoped for.

“But,” and he held up a hand in warning, trying to look serious but failing miserably, “don’t be surprised if you come home one day soon to find me and my suitcase on your doorstep.”

“Best surprise ever,” Lee whispered against Richard’s lips, neither of them able to stop smiling – Lee more out of disbelief than anything. And then –

“It’s getting light,” Richard mused, and Lee felt his heart sink. Sure enough, the sun had risen during their conversation – and every time they’d ever spent the night together, this would be about the time that Rich would start getting antsy and making excuses to leave, and he might have suggested New York but that was in the future and this was now and of _course_ things weren’t going to change that quickly, not when they were in a hotel with the press lurking and their colleagues all on the same floor and Lee cursed himself for assuming as much.

“Do you need to go?”

“Actually,” Richard said, pressing his nose to Lee’s before reclaiming his lips, enjoying the feeling of Lee’s hands settling on his hips, thumbs grazing the jut of his hipbones through his fleecy robe, “I think I need to stay right here.”

“Huh,” Lee mumbled, face slack, eyes half-closed and accent thick with laziness, but mind whirring with possibilities, “in that case, may I suggest a detour to the bedroom, and then a shower and maybe some room service?”

And Richard just kept smiling.

“Lead the way, love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Step 1: randomly hear to song on radio, come up with short story idea based on one line (any guesses? Will disclose if anyone is willing to have a stab) :P  
> Step 2: write short story that turns into 10k beast because why not  
> Step 3: realise that this is not the end of these two, contemplate sequel  
> Step 4: realise that this is actually the first part of an 8 (at least) part series.
> 
> So, yep. That's where we are now.
> 
> This is the smuttiest thing I've ever written, let alone posted on a public forum, so feedback is very much appreciated. (I'm so disproportionately nervous about this! *hides behind screen and anonymity*)
> 
> Thank you for reading! :)


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